


I Saw Her Standing There

by thesocialhermit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, hints of underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesocialhermit/pseuds/thesocialhermit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edric Storm is sent to the Vale rather than the Free Cities, and stirs up things a little faster than anyone could have ever guessed a dead king's bastard was capable of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Her Standing There

Davos told him. He told Edric that he would take him somewhere safe, somewhere far off from Melisandre and her fires. Edric asked where he would go; Pentos or Braavos? Volantis or Ghiscari?

None of those, Davos had said. You’re going to be with family.

That’s how Edric came to the Vale.

It was jarring, to say the least. Edric knew his father had many other children, just not the golden ones their mother forbid him from meeting. Other Baratheon-looking ones, bastards like him. But he never suspected that he would meet them. They would live in his dreams, dreams of him and his father, Uncle Renly, and his brothers and sisters all living happily together in Storm’s End.

But his father and uncle were dead, his other uncle had tried to burn him. So Edric lived with his sister.

Mya was good enough. She showed him around the Eyrie, teaching him all he needed to know about its runnings. She showed him her donkeys, forbidding him from helping her.

“If you’re going to want to stay here, you need to find your own job. Convince the Lord Protector it was a good idea I asked him to let you stay here.” And Edric did. He went to the Lord Protector and asked him what he could do to earn his keep.

Petyr Baelish looked him over with shrewd, calculating eyes. There was something about the look in them, something that told Edric to get away from the Lord Protector, as far as possible. But he stayed rooted to the spot, enduring the prodding and questioning and endless japes at his expense. When he was excused, Edric was told to go off and sit in the forge. The blacksmith would be his master now, and Edric learned how useless he was with a hammer. It struck him deep, knowing that he will never truly use the warhammer his father had given him, the one that lay still in Storm’s End, far, far away from him. Rather, he linked chainmail, whittling away the ends of his fingers and worked the leather. It was there, sitting in the open mouth of the smithy that he saw her.

She was walking through the yard, gaze focused ahead of her, on her task and yet she still looked over at him. Fixing those haunted, blue eyes on him. Edric was shaken, utterly transfixed by this peculiar girl.

“She’s Lord Baelish’s bastard; Alayne Stone. Nice girl, rather quiet though. She takes care of Lord Robert most of her days, poor thing.” Edric seated himself just outside of the forge now, always looking for Alayne and those haunting eyes of hers. It was a couple of days before she passed by him again, and he called out to her.

“Good morning, ma’am.” She turned her head, looking at him. She smiled, wiping it from her face quickly.

“Good morning.” He grinned at her and watched her leave with the swirl of her skirts. They exchanged pleasantries for the next week, her face beginning to brighten whenever she encountered Edric; something he prided himself on. Finally, she started to linger by him, asking after his work and how he was coming to like living in the Eyrie.

“It’s nice enough,” he looked up from the length of links in his lap, staring into her face. Edric studied the slope of her nose, the wide curve of her lips. He also noticed the deep, dark circles under her eyes and the fretting of her fingers. “Not as nice as Storm’s End, but… Well, nothing’s as nice as home, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” She sounded so hollow then, so breakable that it scared him. 

“And where do you call home?”

“My father is from the Fingers,” her reply was as diplomatic as all her other answers, laced with something Edric couldn’t figure out. “That is my home, I suppose.”

“But where were you born? That’s your home.”

“Then, the North.” She looked wistful, so beautiful that Edric felt the urge to kiss her. “The North is my home.”

“So you’re a Snow, not a Stone then?” Alayne snapped, eyes widening at him, full of fear. She picked up her things, gave a flimsy excuse and darted off to the castle. Edric let out a stream of curses, muttering himself as he worked about his fucking it up. It was another week before she started returning his hellos again, but their conversations were halted.

“Just give her time,” Mya told him. He had gone to assist her with the donkeys, something she snapped at him for so instead he asked about Alayne. “She’s been through a lot - a lot of something. Tries to hide it, but it seems pretty obvious to me. But hey, us bastards understand each other. Just take your time with her, be patient.” And patient he tried to be, but Baratheons were never famous for it. Stubbornness, though. So he remained stubborn, stubborn that Alayne would talk to him again, that she would like him and want to be his friend. He may not admit it, but Edric missed Shireen, missed her companionship. It had been nice having another person to play with.

'But you’re a man now,' Edric told himself. 'You can’t play anymore.'

When Alayne stopped by his work station again, Edric gave her his friendliest smile.

“Hello, how are you doing?” He tried to sound flippant, not as though he was still marked by her sudden disappearance the fortnight before.

“Fine,” she was chewing on her lips, Edric found himself unable to look away from them. “I wanted to apologize. I was quite rude before.”

“It’s fine, I understand. It’s hard to talk about your family when you’re a bastard.” She looked at him and he offered her the seat next to him. She perched herself on it and peered down at the half-formed chain tunic in her lap.

“You’re getting far with this,” her fingers traced over the links and Edric sucked in a breath. “It looks wonderful.”

“Ah, well. Practice, is all.”

“Practice,” she echoed, looking into his face and smiling at him. 'She looks so lovely when she smiles,' Edric returned it. 'I wish she would do it more often.'

“How is the young lord doing?” Her expression soured and Edric cursed himself for mis-stepping again.

“He is tiring,” she replied. “But he is my lord, and it is my duty to watch over him.” Edric nodded, leaning closer to her and whispered conspiratorially. 

“You know, it’s my duty to do these damned links, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She giggled and Edric beamed at her, bumping her shoulder with his. “If you ever get a chance to step away from him, I’ll be here. My work is easily enough to get away from, the master is lax with me.” Alayne placed her hand over his and squeezed.

“Thank you.”

“You can call me Edric.”

“And you may call me Alayne.” She slipped from her seat, collecting her things and walked back into the castle, giving him a small wave. Edric waved back, feeling a rather silly-looking smile creep over his face.

“I won’t say I’m shocked,” Mya told him after he had flown down to the donkey stables, regaling the tale to her. “Considering who our father was. I’m sure you could charm any girl; but this is Alayne. I don’t want you messing around with her. She’s a nice girl. Besides, don’t want the Lord Protector breathing down your neck. Rumors’re going around that he’s planning her betrothal.” Edric brushed her warning off, waiting on his boxes every day for Alayne to wave or smile at him, waiting for her to come to him and steal him away and spend a day with him.

And she did. It was late in the evening, a month after he offered and it was snowing quite heavily. Edric was seated on his cot in the back rooms of the forge, bundling himself up against the cold winds when there was a smart knock on his door.

“I thought I was finished for the night,” he called out, opening the door and found Alayne smiling at him rather than the old blacksmith chomping on sourleaf. “Oh, Alayne. Hello,” he felt uncomfortable in his sheer tunic now, feeling her gaze burning his skin. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no sorry! I just— You said I should come when I get a chance to leave my duties. And I finished for the night, so I was thinking that perhaps we could go walking around the grounds but… I’m sorry, I’ll just leave.” Edric placed his hand on her shoulder as she went to turn, stilling Alayne.

“No, no it’s alright! Please, don’t go. It’s just, well, I wasn’t expecting you. I’ll get be a moment, wait out here.” He closed the door and frantically searched for clean breeches, a doublet that wasn’t too small or worn, warm boots and furs to wrap himself in. When Edric came out, Alayne was busying herself with some small flensing knives on the master’s workbench.

“Watch out, those are quite sharp.” Alayne looked over her shoulder, placing the knives back onto the table.

“They’re quite beautiful,” she looked back at them, staring at the gleaming silver blades.

“They are, but I’ve seen more beautiful things.” Alayne smiled, coming to stand beside him. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” They left the smithy, going out to the courtyard and walked off around the winding trails into the small garden.

“This was supposed to be a godswood,” she explained to him, looking down at the piles of snow that crunched under her boots. He was looking at her, noticing the shape of her chin, the lines of her cheeks, the soft waves of her hair. “But nothing could grow here.”

“Perhaps no one ever tried properly.” Alayne stared up at him, that wistful look on her face again. “I’m sure things could grow here if people gave it the right attention.” She gave him a little smile, one that fell from her face as quickly as it appeared.

“Perhaps,” he heard her exhale slowly, watching the way she shook under her cloak.

“Are you cold, Alayne?”

“No, I just… It’s nothing.” Edric pressed his mouth into a line, seeing her hands bunch into the velvet tightly.

“Here,” he slipped the furs from his shoulders and wrapped them around hers. She peered at him, the end of her nose red and her eyes rimmed. Edric felt his heart stutter in his chest when she smiled at him.

“Thank you, Edric.” They twisted their way through the garden path, looping back around the backs of castle turrets and towers, finding themselves in a small, private alcove. They sat together and Alayne pressed herself up against his side. Edric let his head rest on her shoulder. He started to shiver now and Alayne let him into the furs, sharing her warmth with him.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you Alayne.” They fell silent, watching the snow fall lightly from the grey sky. Edric thought about how late it must be getting. “Shouldn’t you return to your chambers soon? It’s getting dark, and I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” He could feel her shake her head and press tighter against him.

“Not just yet, I don’t want to go back yet.” So he said nothing, curling up against her as she pressed into him. He started to feel drowsy, from the warmth, the peace he felt, the rhythmic sound of Alayne’s breathing. Then he heard her.

“Lord Robert is terrible,” he shuffled against her, sitting up to look her in the face. “He crawls into my bed at night and shakes, sometimes he shakes so hard he wets himself, and me. He screams and pulls my hair, he gets sick all over me. I hate it Edric, I hate taking care of him. And I feel so guilty for being like this. I shouldn’t hate him as much as I do Edric, but I do. Oh, I hate him so much.”

He pulled her into a tight embrace, hearing her shuddering breaths and felt her tears fall against the skin of his neck; her fingers twisted into the back of his doublet and she pulled herself into his lap. Edric sat there, holding her tight and let Alayne cry against him. He didn’t know what to say so he kept silent, letting her release everything she kept inside. When she moved to pull away, Edric didn’t let her go completely and left his arms looped around her ribcage.

“Alayne, I’m so sorry. I wish I could take you away from here, but I can’t. I can’t and I’m sorry you must go through with this.” She laughed, an awful choking thing, a mockery of the wonderful sound she made when she was happy.

“Words are wind, Edric. It’s simply nice enough for you to be here and support me. But I must beg of you not to reveal what I said to anyone. Everyone looks to me as mistress of the Eyrie, and they would turn against me wickedly if they ever knew my true feelings.” He nodded, solemnly promising never to breath of what she told him. Alayne smiled and that’s when he did it.

That’s when he kissed her.

They were close, so close her breath was fanning against his face. She was watching him, eyes closing and her lips parted ever-so-slightly, just enough to give Edric the encouragement he needed. So he leaned forward, brushing their lips together, feather-light, before pressing against her, fingers knotting and twisting into her hair. The tip of her nose pressed against his cheek, still cold and so different from the warm heat of her mouth. He slid his tongue over her lips, tasting lavender and rosemary and lemon and mint and a hundred other perfect things, firing a heat low in his belly. It drifted towards his cock and he stiffened when she slid in his lap, moving to straddle him so wonderfully between her perfect thighs. Her arms came around his neck and she opened her mouth to him, a moan escaping and only hardened Edric further. She pulled away, kissing his cheeks and forehead and jaw and neck. His head fell back against the stone wall and he groaned, loving the weight of her hands pressed against his chest.

“Oh, Alayne,” and she stopped, sitting up straight and stared at him. “What, what’s the matter?”

“Edric, oh Edric. I’m so sorry, we can’t. We shouldn’t have done this.”

“Alayne, sweet Alayne.” He pulled her against his chest, holding her against him and stroked her hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Alayne.”

He could feel her drawing patterns into the velvet of his tunic, drawing her legs up closer on his lap. “I should go back, Father is probably going to worry soon.” Edric heard himself reply, heard himself tell her to go. But he didn’t loosen his arms from around her, didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her warmth to dissipate. She dislodged herself all the same, returning his furs to him and managed to fix her hair. Alayne pressed a kiss to his forehead, the end of his nose, then his mouth before leaving. Edric sat there, cold and empty despite the heat of his furs. He shoved his hand into his small clothes, finding his release with her name on his lips.

She didn’t come by the forge the next day or the day after. Or even the day after that. On the fourth, Lord Baelish came to visit Edric.

“Hello, my boy.” Edric didn’t like that; he was only the boy to a dead king, rotting in the earth. “How are you adjusting to life here?”

“Well enough, my lord. Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

“Of course,” Baelish was elaborately dressed as ever, so different from the simple cuts and colours of Alayne’s woolen gowns. “Your sister argued for your stay, and I would be hard-pressed to deny her anything. Her and her donkeys are such a help after all.” Something changed in his demeanour, a quick flicker of something in his eyes. Something that set Edric on edge. “You know how to be helpful, don’t you Edric? About everyone having a specific position in life.”

“I do, my lord.”

“Your place is in the forge, as I put you, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good, good.” He inhaled deeply, placing that smile back on his face. Some might call it charming, but Edric knew what true charm was like. True charm didn’t make your skin crawl. “Have you heard about Alayne’s betrothal? Harry Hardyng had put in an offer for her hand that I cannot deny.” Edric knew the subtext, he understand the games nobles played. He might not be a good player, but he was a great observer. 

“I hadn’t, my lord. Alayne spoke to me yesterday, but never mentioned a word of it.”

“I only told her last night, after she came home from your little walk.” Edric had the graces to mask himself, not letting Baelish think he had the upper hand in the situation.

“Alayne was kind enough to show me round the gardens. Have you ever had a chance to look at them, my lord?”

“Oh, I had.” Baelish was practically seething, and Edric was hard-pressed not to smirk. “I have seen more of those gardens than you ever will, my boy.”

“Of course, my lord. I’m sorry, but you must excuse me. I need to continue with my work,” Edric gestured to the chainmail in his lap. “It’s tedious and long, but it must be done regardless.”

“Yes, yes it must. Good day then, Edric.”

“Good day, my lord.” When Baelish retreated into the castle, Edric threw down his links, shouted an excuse to his master and ran off in search of Mya. He found her speaking with another girl, Myranda Royce. He begged his sister to talk to him for just a moment and she begrudgingly excused herself from Myranda.

“What is it?” she hissed, closing them off into a private area in the stables.

“I think Lord Baelish has been doing something to Alayne.” Mya narrowed her eyes, studying him.

“What do you mean?” Edric gestured vaguely, wild with rage.

“Inappropriate things! Not suitable of fatherly attentions.”

“Edric, be quiet! He has ears everywhere, you can’t insinuate these things!”

“I can, because he just did!”

“Edric, go back to work.”

“But Mya—”

“Go back to work and keep your mouth shut. You’re the only family I know and I won’t have you getting yourself killed.” He huffed, shouldering his way past her and back up to the forge. Edric poured himself into his work, trying to shut out Baelish and his threats, Alayne and her longing eyes. And it worked, for the most part. Edric was so involved that he finished the tunic and started working on a helm. He neglected the arrival of Hardyng and his party, the official announcement, the preparations for a wedding. He was unaware of everything for a full two months, until he came to his room one night after finishing business with Mya and found a hooded figure seated on his bed. Quickly, Edric brandished a dirk and called to the stranger.

“What business do you have here?” His voice shook and Edric hated himself for it. He slipped into the proper footing, preparing to defend himself.

“Edric, please.” He dropped the blade, watching as Alayne turned to him and dropped her hood. A river of red tumbled loose, her hair completely changed. It shone in the dim candlelight, reds and oranges and yellows winking at him. “I need your help.”

“Alayne, your hair…”

“Edric,” her tone was sharper and he looked to her face now. She looked the same, but more regal now, more noble. “My name is Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I am its last heir, and I need your help.”

“Stark?” He croaked out, and Alayne- no Sansa - stood before him, hands clamping tight on his shoulders and she shook him.

“Edric, I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to focus. Father— No, he is not my father. Eddard Stark was my father. Lord Baelish has held me captive here, buying his time to sell me off to the highest bidder. He murdered my lady aunt and has kept my lord cousin drugged and under his constant attention. As much as I dislike him, I fear for Robert’s life. And… Lord Baelish, he,” Sansa shook and Edric pulled her into an embrace.

“I know, Sansa, I know. He told me as much when he spoke to me. I’m so sorry,” she sniffled, burrowing her face into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. You should’ve told me—”

“I couldn’t, Edric. He was protecting me, in his own horrible way. He was protecting me from the Lannisters and their brutality. It was a small price to pay in order to live.” Edric felt himself grow cold; the idea that Sansa had allowed herself to be used by him, that this was the better option, was sickening.

“I’ll help you Sansa, what is it? What do you need me to do?” She pulled away, a look in her eye that he hadn’t seen before, something hard and cruel; a look of winter.

“Lead him into the throne room. I will do the rest.” So Edric left Sansa by herself in his small room, going into the castle and bypassing the servants. He kept his head down and walked to Lord Baelish’s room, knocking on the door. Edric could hear someone moving around inside, then Baelish’s voice.

“Alayne, Alayne my dear,” he was drunk and Edric felt his gut twist. Baelish was drunk and thought he was Sansa, probably with the intention of bedding her. When the door swung open, Baelish barely covered in his decorative robe, Edric hoped what Sansa had planned was enough to truly punish this monster.

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord.” Baelish sneered, sloshing his drink onto Edric’s tunic.

“Of course you are, my boy. What is it now? Have you come to tell me that you’re fighting for her hand? Let me tell you something boy,” Baelish leaned forward, breathing wine, sour and wet against Edric face. He clenched his fists at his sides, shaking with the restrain of punching Baelish in his cruel mouth. “She’s not worth it. None of those Tully sluts are. Learn from my experience.” He slipped his robe open further, soft cock tangling between his legs. Baelish gestured at a long, ragged scar across his front.

“Earned this from that Stark. Not Eddard, no he was too honourable for me. From his whore brother. Brandon was worse than your father; sired bastards all over the Seven Kingdoms.” Edric coughed loudly, snapping Baelish’s attention back into place.

“My lord, Alayne has sent me to come and get you. She wishes to speak with you urgently in the throne room.” Baelish frowned, setting down his wine cup (which fell from its place and spilt all over the lush carpets) and tied up his robe. He followed behind Edric, who wound his way back to the throne room and called out.

“Sansa? Sansa, I’ve brought him.”

“Thank you, Edric.” Both men wheeled around and found her sitting on the throne, high and proud and beautiful. 'And absolutely wicked,' Edric thought, catching the mean glint in her eyes. He stepped back while Baelish moved forward, opening his arms to her.

“Alayne, my darling girl, my daughter, come down here.” She rose, her shoulder tense and straight. Her gown was beautiful and her hair loose down her back. She came before Baelish, smiling sweetly to him.

“Father.”

“Oh, darling I’m not your real father. But you know this.” He traced a finger over her cleavage, over the curve of her breast and pinched her nipple through the fabric. Edric stepped closer to him and Sansa shook her head.

“Edric, open the Moon Door.” He did, holding her gaze as he went. Baelish looked over his shoulder, brows furrowing together.

“Sweet Sansa, what are you doing?” He tried to seem calm but Edric could hear the panic in his voice. “Please, darling. Come now, I protected you from the Lannisters.”

Sansa let out a laugh, high and thin and so, so bitter it broke Edric’s heart. He could see a flash of silver by her hands. “Protected me from the Lannisters? After what Joffrey did to me, to my father - my true father? After how Cersei tainted and harmed me? After they found out about the Tyrells plans, the people who really, truly wanted to help me, and married me off to Tyrion? Oh, but you knew that part, didn’t you? You told them.”

As she spoke, she walked forward, pushing Baelish back towards the open Moon Door. Edric stood at the other end, eyes widen and watching in terror and anticipation.

“Sansa, please. I did my best. I did what I could for you, for your—”

“For my mother?” Edric could see she had one of the flensing knives in her had. She must have taken it from his master’s workbench when he left her. “My mother is gone. You used me as her replacement; your toy to play with, to kiss, to ruin. Then you would toss me off to Harry the Heir when it suited you?” Her voice grew louder, her yells and screams causing Baelish to shake.

He noticed the knife in her hand now and croaked out one last beg for his life. “Sansa, darling Alayne, please—”

She raised the knife, stabbing him in the gut over and over again. Edric didn’t look away but he recoiled when he heard Baelish’s cries of anguish, his pleas, his calls for Catelyn Stark.

“I am the blood of the wolf, the descendant of the First Men. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell; my pack is gone, but I will survive.” She pushed him and Baelish stumbled, tripping through the Moon Door and tumbled end over end through the air. Sansa watched him fall through the air then dropped suddenly to her knees, knife falling to her side and clattered against the floor. She stared down at her hands, red and sticky and coated in his blood and started to shake. Edric rushed to her side, holding her and stroking her back, her hair; kissing her forehead, her hairline, her temple.

“You’re okay, Sansa. It’s done, you’re safe. He can’t hurt you ever again.”

“Edric, I killed a man— I, I…”

“I know, Sansa. I know.” He held her as she started retching, trying to soothe her as she clung to the stone floor and emptied her stomach. “You’re safe now, don’t worry. Sansa, you’ll be okay.” When she had calmed, she instructed Edric to rouse the castle. He went, awaking everyone he could; highborn and low, bringing them into the throne room. When they collected there, Sansa resumed her seat on the throne, looking like perfection once more.

“I am sorry to wake you all,” there were shouts, calls to her, calls of Tully and Stark. “Please, I will explain all in time.” And she did; she explained her time in King’s Landing, the death of the king, the murder of her father. She told of her time under Joffrey’s hand, leaving Edric roiling and shaking with rage. She dictated the true nature of the Lannisters, the promises of Ser Dontos. She spoke of the Tyrells’ attempted help, of her forced wedding to the Imp, of her hand in Joffrey’s murder and her flight with Baelish to the Eyrie. She said that Lysa knew, that she helped in the cover-up and that Baelish murdered her, his treatment and taking advantage of her situation, coming full cycle to this night where she explained her murder of Littlefinger. 

“I understand if you do not want a killer in charge. I am young and have plenty to learn, but Lord Baelish taught me much in the ways of administration of a castle. If you will have me, I will rule here until Lord Robert is of age. If not, perhaps Lord Harry Hardyng will lead. I only ask that I am allowed safe refuge here.”

There was a murmuring in the crowd, whispers of her intentions, questioning the truth to any of this. Edric felt himself stepping forward, calling himself to Sansa’s cause. Harry stood beside him, placing a hand on Edric’s shoulder and joined. Soon, the rest of the nobles took up the call, proclaiming Sansa to be their ruler. She shone on the seat, listening to the cheers of “Tully!” “Stark!” “Lady Sansa!” 

“I thank you. I intend to continue to keep the Eyrie out of the realm’s business, to have it as a safe haven for any who seek refuge. I hope to make you all proud and pleased with your decision. I only request you keep my existence quiet; there is no need for anyone, be it a lion, a stag, a wolf, a fish or any others trying to bring down our doors. You may return to your rooms as you wish.” The dismissal was quick enough, the people dispersing from the throne room. Harry and Edric remained and Sansa slipped from her seat and made their way to them.

“I hope you do not feel inclined to continue our betrothal,” Harry took her hand in his, smiling and gallant, handsome in all the ways Edric couldn’t be. “Not with the current events at hand. I pledge my house to you, my lady. You will lead us wisely.”

Sansa curtsied, smiling brightly at him. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your understanding; it would be best to dissolve our betrothal.” He bowed, excusing himself back to his chambers. Sansa turned to Edric now and smiled.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“For what, my lady?” She pulled him into a hug.

“For being there when no one else was; for being what I needed.” Edric returned the hug, burrowing his nose into her hair.

“You were there for me, my lady. You were my friend when no one else was.” Her eyes were dancing with laughter, a real smile on her gorgeous mouth.

“I told you Edric, you may call me by my name.” He smirked, pulling away from her and studied her mouth, her nose, her eyes.

“And what is it again? Alayne or Sansa?”

“Edric!” He laughed and she kissed him, slanting their mouths together and she still tasted like a million wonderful things; like lavender and rosemary and lemons.

The mint wasn’t there any more. Edric liked it this way.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Joanna, like most things are.


End file.
